Jag
by Poisoned Scarlet
Summary: It's only then, as he chugs the remainder of Jean's stash, that Eren truly understands why the best men resort to alcohol.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Attack on Titan.

**Jag  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlett_

He understands why Hannes drinks the way he does.

He understands why sometimes he walks into a meeting and Corporal Levi is pouring something out of a flask, his eyes severe and haunted, daring him to say something as he drinks his bitter coffee and barely grimaces.

He understands why Jean pulls over the curtain in his bunk at night and why he wakes up heavy-headed and ill, why Connie sometimes invites Sasha out to the back of the barracks—and why, when Connie returns in the dark hours of the night, he is unsteady with his throat choked up, his eyes rimmed red, his breath sour, and his shoulders shaking.

Eren understands, but he doesn't _truly _understand until Jean's flask rolls out from his bunk to his. He doesn't understand until he picks it up and scowls at the snoring man, going to reach for the curtain to tell him to watch his things better. He pauses seconds before, then drops his hand to his side and looks down at the half-full flask with hesitance. He looks across the dark room—Connie is in his bed tonight—and decides Jean wouldn't do anything even if he discovered that he drank the remainder of his alcohol.

It's only then, slumped against the walls of the barracks, coughing as the hard liquor runs down his throat, that he understands why people drink. He finishes the entire flask before he realizes that it's not a good idea, that his head is lighter than cotton and his limbs won't cooperate with him, that his body feels feverish and his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. The night seems to shift on its axis, stars explosions rather than pin-pricks, the air as loud as when he is soaring through the sky in his gear. The land is unsteady and uneven and every step he takes into the dense forest only makes his heart pound in his ears, his throat, his chest—_everywhere_, until he thinks he has become blood itself.

His thoughts are hazy, but he remembers with a vivid clarity colossal hands reaching down to pick up the frail figure of his mother. He doesn't know why he's thinking of that now, of all times, but he is and there is nothing to stop it. His thoughts blend in with one another, but he _remembers _how she was picked up like a doll, bent over backwards with not even the decency to cry out. It's all so real and he takes another drink, remembers there's not, then crushes the flask in his hand, feeling tears burn his eyes. It's only now that he truly understands why Connie returns so late at night, eyes rimmed-red, shoulders shaking; why Hannes drinks, why Jean drinks, why Commander Pixis drinks: because although these seared images consume his thoughts, there is a hollowness inside of himself. There is a sort of absence of emotion, his eyes watering against his will, his shoulders shaking as if his body remembers the grief but his heart doesn't.

He doesn't really feel the grief, his body does, but that makes things easier.

Bodies forget, minds don't.

There's a flash and he's not running anymore, he's crashing into the ground, an enormous hand reaching up to crush a tree in its fist. Eren snarls and it's loud, animalistic, and choked of _something _that only makes his eyes burn urgently—makes him angrily shove his fingers into his sockets, feeling pain and nothing else, until steam erupts and his eyes repair themselves and he does it again and again. That is, until Eren regains his mind and his thoughts focus and he stares in abject horror at the mess he's made, at the steaming blood that pools beneath him and the way trees are snapped out of shape.

He tears himself out of his Titan form without another thought, stumbling, hitting a tree with his back and sliding down the bark so hard splinters dig into his skin one after the other.

"Have you had enough?"

Eren snaps his head right, to Corporal Levi, who watches calmly from against a tree. He has his 3D Maneuver Gear on, but he is the only one in sight. Eren feels his face heat up in humiliation; had he woken everyone up in his rampage?

"I…Corporal, I didn't mean to…"

Corporal Levi holds up a ball of metal. He doens't understand why, then he realizes it's Jean's flask, crushed so badly it scarcely resembles itself.

"This'll be the last time you drink unsupervised, lightweight," Corporal Levi tells him flatly. He takes a sniff of the once-flask and scoffs, tossing it aside. "That shit isn't even worth the trouble you're in."

"Did anyone else…? I mean, did anyone else wake up because of me?"

"No," the Corporal answers shortly. "I am the only one. We're too far for them to hear the mess you've made. I'll have to report this to Commander Irvin in the morning, however." Levi watches Eren bow his head and clench his fists for a second before he turns back and beckons him to follow, deciding he'd give the kid a break and not report him to Irvin. He doesn't think it's necessary to report a man simply drinking out his grief. He doesn't know how many flasks he's gone through himself since he joined the Scouting Legion.

"Let's go. Before the sun rises."


End file.
